Lion and Magic Boy

Dear Croup,

Although we are not acquainted personally, I hate you.

You rob my child of breath. Do you have any idea how it feels to listen to your child struggle to breathe, knowing that his vocal cords and trachea may eventually swell so much that he’ll be prevented from breathing entirely?

No, you don’t, do you. Nor do you care.

You didn’t care last Christmas Eve, when you struck in the hours during which only Santa should be awake, causing me to have to take your host to the emergency room. It pretty much put a damper on our holiday, if you must know.

Nor did you care a couple of months later. Same host, same story. Leave this child alone, will you?

And now, the holiday, excuse me, croup season has begun again. I know you hate steroids, and I do too, but I may be forced to employ them to act against you if this continues. I shouldn’t give you fair warning, not after the way you have treated me (ONE HOUR of sleep last night for me, thanks to you), but I figure either you can leave now and leave quietly, or tomorrow I’ll get out the big guns.

Go now, while you have a chance. I’ll look the other way.

Just don’t come back.

Sincerely,
Me

[tags]croup, germs, poor sick boy[/tags]